


Legatarius

by fushine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angsty-ish, F/F, Homophobia, I promise this is not all angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, eventual Drarry but like, it even has a happy ending, we've got a long way to go bbs, wolfstar, written by a gay so everyone got at least 10 percent gayer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-24 07:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fushine/pseuds/fushine
Summary: *ON HOLD* - my plot ran away from me.Legatarius: Latin. One to whom a thing is bequeathed.---The smoky tea almost helps, but even it can't touch the deep cold that has settled in Remus' chest.“Does Minerva still have Harry?”Hestia nods. “Tucked safely away in Scotland."“Are...Lily and James…did someone...”“Yes. Their will is very specific about what is to be done, and very legally binding - I should know, I helped them write it.” Hestia looks over at Remus, seeing the next question written on his face. “When Sirius agreed to be Harry’s godfather he took on not just a title but a magical covenant of guardianship; Lily didn’t want Harry to go to her sister. And, between us, I think they knew you would always be there to help.”---Or: Sirius and Remus raise Harry and I try not to completely re-write all seven books.





	1. 1981- Your Absence has Gone Through Me

**Author's Note:**

> In theory this story will span Harry's life, but it's not a re-write of the entire series because I do not have the patience for that.
> 
> Sort of canon compliant.
> 
> It's not all angst but oh boy does it start out angsty. Mostly just letting my propensity for dramatics flow, sorry not sorry.

_“Your absence has gone through me_  
_Like thread through a needle._  
_Everything I do is stitched with its color.”_  
_― W.S. Merwin_

_  
_

Sirius knows James is dead because the loss comes over him in a stuttering rush of pain, like a stone skipping across a silent body of water.

He is reclined on his bed, the soft weight of Remus’ head on his stomach. They are both reading - Remus something so thick that would surely hurt if he were to drop it and Sirius a muggle comic. Their domesticity is companionable but secret; Remus should be in a forest somewhere up North, dug into one of the caves near the Thurd werewolf pack. He has been trying to convince them to join Dumbledore for months, wheedling and arguing, skirting the snarls of their leader as he weaves sense with survival for anyone who will listen. Most werewolves are loyal only to their pack, too shy of death to trust anyone else.

The Thurd are so feral they don’t cook their meat and sleep curled in a den. Their hair is matted, their bodies dirty and unwashed. They barely talk anymore, and sometimes Remus’ voice is the only human sound for days and days. After a particularly brutal and fruitless week of arguing, Remus is unable to stand it any longer. He is losing what it means to be himself amongst them, the wolf somewhere deep in his brain keening to join a pack now that his is suddenly absent. Remus has never been good alone, too prone to depression and self-flagellation. The wolf Remus wants Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail. He wants the easy comfort of their boyhood friendship so badly that even a simulacre will do. Which is why he has sought out Sirius, his person, for what he thinks will be just one night of escape. It isn’t even about sex, though Remus’ wouldn’t mind. It’s about hearing Sirius’ voice and smelling his scent, feeling the rise and fall of his breath and the thrum of his heart, his humanity.

Sirius sits up with a gasp, knocking Remus to the ground as he clutches at his chest.

“James.” He croaks, and is off the bed seconds later. Remus just manages to grab his arm before Sirius disapperates, dragging them both through space so fast Remus is sure he has been splinched.

The house is in ruins, half sunk into itself like a collapsed cake, and for a moment Remus is sure he will be sick, the first solid meal he has eaten in months threatening to force its way out of his body.

Sirius is frantic, scrabbling through the rubble like his dog-self, and as they approach the smell of death is so thick in the air that Remus does vomit this time, barely making it to the bushes by the front steps. When he straightens up he can see Sirius trying to blast open the door open, then abandoning magic for pure adrenaline, throwing his whole weight against it till it gives. Remus meets him on the threshold and together they advance into the dark living room, dodging support beams and broken furniture, half the ceiling now a yawning maw above them, splintered floorboards and shredded carpet.

They don’t get far before they find him. James is slumped over the foot of the stairs, his eyes wide and mouth open as though in a yell. His glasses lie a few feet away, unscratched and pristine, but his robes are burned and from the direction of his wand, Remus can tell he has collapsed the ceiling in on himself to stop his attacker, to buy time for Lily.

Sirius drops over James as though he too has been hit, but the wail that escapes his lips belies the distance that now exists between them. Remus bends to touch his shoulder, wants cover as much of the shaking body as he can, when a twinning wail rises from upstairs. Without thinking Remus clambers over James, taking the stairs two at a time toward the upper bedroom, heedless of the spell-damaged structure.

Lily lies in front of the crib, hair a slash of bright red against the pale yellow rug. Her eyes are closed, and she clutches the corner of a baby blanket in one of her fists, the other has a vice-grip on her wand. She has fought hard - everything between her and the door is scarred and seared black, shelves of baby clothes incinerated in the blast, stuffed animals blown apart, wallpaper melted and grotesque. The door is barely standing on its hinges.

Behind her, there is movement and sound.

Remus draws his wand then, advancing with his heart so far up his throat he feels it pound against his tonsils. Harry sits up in the crib, his tear-streaked face pressed against the bars as he wails and stretches a hand out to his mother.

Without thinking, Remus rushes forward, lifts Harry to shield the child’s view of Lily in what he hopes is an act of kindness. Harry continues to cry, great gasping sobs into the tattered neck of Remus’ robes. For his part, Remus is not familiar with the emotional means of soothing a baby. He knows the practical - a bottle, a diaper change, a sweet. But what Harry has just experienced yawns out around them in a chasm of grief that he cannot fathom. And downstairs, Sirius is sobbing too.

Overcome, Remus sinks to the floor beside the crib and, clutching Harry to his chest, reaches a shaking hand for Lily. He uncurls her still-warm fingers from the baby blanket and wraps them in his hand instead. He can’t bare to leave her alone like this.


	2. 1981- Acted Upon by Forces Outside Our Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: this chapter has some overt (and some covert) homophobia.

_“The practice of love offers no place of safety. We risk loss, hurt, pain. We risk being acted upon by forces outside our control.”_

_― Bell Hooks_

Remus and Sirius agree to submit to Veritiserum immediately upon arrest - though Remus refuses to let go of Harry until he is safely in McGonagall’s arms and she has vowed to keep him in her sight. Remus trusts her more than anyone outside of the Marauders, but it is still almost impossible to hand the child over. He watches in agony as he is whirled away, hands magically bound and his wand in an Auror’s pocket.

They lead him to an interrogation room, roughly jostling him as they go, and once they have shoved him into a chair one of the Aurors leans over Remus, obviously trying to intimidate him. He hands over the vial of Veritiserum and watches closely as it is drained. Then the questions begin.

“What is your name?”

“Remus John Lupin.” He clenches his hands to stop them from shaking.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Occupation?”

“Employee at Flourish & Blotts. Sometimes I tutor.”

It goes on and on, the questions changing from simple verification about his life to demands about the previous night:

“Where were you when the Potters were killed?”

“At Sirius’ flat.”

“What is your relationship to Sirius Black?”

Remus hesitates, but the truth is pulled from him. “Complicated.”

“How can it be complicated?” The Auror trades looks with his partner. “Do you know Sirius Black?”

“Yes.”

“Do you consider him a friend?”

“Yes.” They’re getting closer to the truth, anyway.

“Then why can’t you define your relationship to him?”

Remus clenches his jaw, feeling the tension radiate back through his ears. “Because we have a complicated relationship.” He grits out as the spell forces him to speak.

“Complicated how?”

“I’m in love with him.” Remus blurts, cringing as the potion rips the truth from his lips. His cheeks burn, though he has gone into this interrogation knowing he will most likely be coming out.

The shorter Auror coughs. “And tonight were you…?”

“No.” Remus makes eye contact with him for the first time. “I went to Sirius’ flat for dinner. We were reading and having tea when he realized James had - had died.”

“And how did he realize James had died?”

**\---**

“A binding spell.” Sirius repeats, frustrated. He thinks that he recognises the Auror who is interrogating him from school, she was maybe a year ahead of him; Mcdougall something, a Slytherin but surprisingly not pureblood.

“Binding spells are serious magic, Black.” Says the other Auror, a short fellow balding too early for his age.

The joke that all of his magic is serious springs briefly to mind, but Sirius can’t make himself say it, not when the person who would have laughed hardest is gone.

“I know.” He says instead - his answer is technically the truth. He’s good at Veritiserum because it was used regularly in his childhood, knows how to answer without revealing too much. His concern lies with Remus, already too honest for his own good, imagining him choking out secrets in another room.

“Why did you and James bind yourselves to each other?”

“It wasn’t a regular binding spell, it only let one of us know if the other had died.”

The Aurors exchange looks. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I was worried something would happen to him.”

“And he feared you would die?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because fucking Voldemort exists? Because my family were lunatics? Please, take your pick.” Sirius snarls, losing the tenuous hold he has on his patience. The exhaustion of trauma and loss is like a flood and he is losing his willingness to swim against it.

**\---**

The interrogation goes on for hours. Remus is dosed twice with Veritiserum, spilling his entire sexual history to the Aurors (it doesn’t take long: a nervous fumble with some older Hufflepuff boy in 5th year then a long confusing on-and-off with Sirius ever since.) The taller Auror presses for humiliating details, drawing out every particle of Remus’ life. The first time he realized he was bent, the first time he kissed a boy, the first time he had sex with Sirius. Remus knows he is being punished for his queerness, but the longer he belies the truth of the matter, answering in clipped tones and struggling against the potion, the longer he can delay any questions that might reveal the Order. He knows that the nature of this interrogation will only serve to prove his innocence, and by extension Sirius’, but he feels wrung out and exhausted by shame.

Finally Dumbledore arrives, sweeping into the room just as Remus is trying to fight against disclosing his most recent mission.

The Aurors leave with Dumbledore for a long time, nearly an hour, before they are back to release him.

Immediately Remus asks after Sirius, but no one is forthcoming as they escort him to a set of hard benches in the reception area and tell him to sit.

Waiting feels even longer than the interrogation. Remus drinks bad coffee and watches Aurors come and go.

Sometime after five am, Hestia Jones arrives with a sandwich and thermos of tea.

“I’m here if he needs representation.” She says, and Remus feels better because behind her back everyone calls her The Harpy (misogynistic, of course, but not inaccurate given her ability to verbally lacerate opposing council).

Remus squeezes her hand. Hestia squeezes back, then produces a mug, pouring him a cup of strong Russian Caravan tea. It is his favourite, and Remus realizes that she knew exactly who she would be comforting, who would still be detained, before she left the house.

The smoky tea almost helps, but even it can't touch the deep cold that has settled in Remus' chest.

“Does Minerva still have Harry?”

Hestia nods. “Tucked safely away in Scotland."

“Are...Lily and James…did someone...”

“Yes. Their will is very specific about what is to be done, and very legally binding - I should know, I helped them write it.” Hestia looks over at Remus, seeing the next question written on his face. “When Sirius agreed to be Harry’s godfather he took on not just a title but a magical covenant of guardianship; Lily didn’t want Harry to go to her sister. And, between us, I think they knew you would always be there to help.”

Remus gasps out a small sob of grief, struggling to hold back the flood; he knows that if the levees break even slightly he will drown. Hestia puts one arm around his shoulder and steadies the shaking mug in his hand with her own.

“We’re going to get through this, Remus.” Her voice is steady, but belies a shaky foundation - Hestia and Lily were close, both fiercely intelligent and fantastic debate partners. Remus can remember many pub nights, Lily and Hestia arguing Ministry policies with James’ Auror friends, defending magical creatures, house elves, and muggleborns in one fell swoop.

Someone clears their throat, and Hestia stands, radiating authority in a way that makes the Auror step back.

“We’ll be releasing Sirius Black.” The Auror says, addressing Hestia though he glances at Remus, a slight sneer on his impatient mouth. Remus realizes then that his secrets have become gossip. He’s a gay werewolf, and though the latter is considered worse, the former likely won’t win him any favour.

“Will he be charged?” Hestia demands.

The Auror hesitates.

“I am his legal representation.” Hestia says cooly. “If you are charging him and do not provide me with this information I will make sure your life becomes quite difficult as a result.”

“We’re not charging him. Black submitted his memories for evaluation and was cleared.”

Remus clutches Hestia’s shoulder in a vice grip, but she doesn’t wince.

“I assume you will be bringing him out shortly?”

The Auror begins to speak, but he’s cut off by Sirius’ appearance. Remus rushes forward, uncaring, and wraps Sirius in his arms. The solid body against his disperses some cold, their arms tight around each other. Sirius is crying quietly into his shoulder and Remus pulls him as close as flesh will allow.

“I love you.” He whispers, saying the words out loud for the first time.


	3. 1981- Fight From the Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit more angst. Just a biiiiit more.
> 
> This chapter has homophobia, mostly hinted at and definitely also internalized.

_You can't win with your hands tied_  
_Fight from the inside_  
_Fight from the inside_  
_Right down the line -_

[Queen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQn7MXlsTJg)

Watching Hestia pace the chambers, predatory and sleek as a jaguar, Sirius is glad that she represents him. He almost can’t believe they have been dragged before the Wizengamot so soon, but it must be Dumebledore’s influence - he has stepped down briefly as Chief Warlock, unable to retain his impartial status when he is one of the parties petitioning the court.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore is not on Sirius’ side.

“I move that young Mr. Potter be placed under the guardianship of his maternal aunt.” Dumbledore says, clearly irritated that he has to go through the courts at all.

“On what grounds?” Asks Grizelda Marchbanks.

“Mrs. Potter’s sister, Petunia Dursley, is Harry’s only living blood relative. As such, Harry would be offered superior protection in her care.”

“Petunia Dursley is not, in fact, the only living person tied to Harry by blood.” Hestia says, so loudly that Sirius can feel Remus wince beside him.

Elphias Dodge shuffles some papers till he finds the Potter/Evans family tree. “What do you mean? The Potter line ends with him, and his muggleborn mother has only one sibling.”

“Harry is tied to my client.” Hestia says, and the courtroom erupts following her statement. Once Elphias has called for order again, he turns his critical gaze back on Hestia.

“Explain please, Ms. Jones.”

“Legatarius.” It is Sirius who answers, defiant and a little smug.

Dumbledore seems momentarily at a loss for words. “That potion is used only to skirt inheritance law.”

Sirius nods. “Traditionally, yes, but we re-purposed it.”

“You had better explain it thoroughly, Mr. Black.” Tiberius Ogden booms from a row back.

“My client has chosen to submit his memory for verification.” Hestia says, producing a pensive and moving the memory contained inside into a much larger version that sits on a pedestal a few feet away. After a moment's pause, grey smoke begins to curl out of it, the projection of a day more than two years previous appearing before them as if it were being performed on stage.

The memory is not as strong as it would be experienced through a regular pensive, colours muted like an old photo, but it’s so jarring to see the Potter’s living room whole that Sirius almost reaches for Remus’ hand. Then he remembers that they have agreed not to draw attention to their relationship - and this memory won’t help on that account.

Lily and James are seated on one of the two matching green love seats that dominate their living room - Lily wears a simple striped dress, long hair pulled back in a braid that James is twirling absently between his fingers. He’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that belongs to Sirius, the Queen logo fading into illegibility across his chest.

Across from them, Remus and Sirius sit very close, Sirius’ hand on Remus’ thigh. It’s a gesture of comfort, though Sirius can hear someone mutter in the room behind him. He wills himself not to look around to see who it is.

Peter isn’t present, and Sirius recalls his irritation over the other man’s frequent absences. He had told them he was seeing someone new and work was stressful and they had no reason to disbelieve him. Now Sirius knows better; Peter is somewhere out there in the world running around on freedom bought with his best friends’ lives.

_“Tell them what you found, Moony.” Sirius encourages._

_Remus looks nervous and exhausted - it is only a few days after his transformation and despite Sirius' concerns has already spent the morning doing research._

_Lily leans forward, one hand resting on her stomach._

(She isn’t showing yet in the memory, but they’ve all known for a month, from the moment she and James found out. They had been having their customary Sunday breakfast, James and Sirius cooking a fry up while Peter and Remus drank coffee and took turns reading the most egregious Daily Prophet articles out loud. Lily was usually last to join the table, preferring to sleep in as long as possible, but the morning they found out she had entered the kitchen with shock written on her face and the vial of potion in her hand. Breakfast had been left to burn in the uproar of congratulations and tears that followed.)

_“Legatarius.” Remus says. “It’s traditionally a pureblood potion designed to bypass inheritance. It fell out of fashion once purebloods had lobbied the ministry to change succession laws, the resultant adjustments being the reason Sirius’ parents were able to skip him in favour of Regulus. I’ve checked with Hestia, though, and the magical blood inheritance can supersede written law if the heir steps willingly out of the line.”_

_James puts his arm around Lily. “Basically, it’s a potion that will change a family’s heir?”_

_Remus nods “It requires a lot of shifty magic. Blood magic.” He exchanges a look with Sirius. “Essentially Sirius would be removed as the next Black heir and through a magical transfusion of blood, Lily would take his place.”_

_“How is that even possible?” Lily asks. “I know how deeply purebloods value, well, the purity of blood. Why would they create a potion to bypass that?”_

_Remus looks like he doesn’t know which question to answer first.“I believe it was created in the interest of carrying on their line - the potion was likely created to allow illegitimate children to become heirs. A regular blood transfusion just transfers the literal fluid, but this potion captures the donor’s magical signature. It won’t make you a pureblood or anything like that, but it will make you recognisable as tied to the Black family, to Sirius. In the event of...if Sirius needs to make a bid for custody, this will strengthen his case tenfold as he can offer familial protection.”_

_"But our body is constantly making new blood, so wouldn't it be replaced within a day and the whole thing would be a moot point anyway?"_

_Remus shakes his head. "This is basically a way of giving you some of Sirius' magical core. Blood is just the easiest tool of transference. The potion is the binding agent. Besides, once the deed is done it won't matter if your body eventually replenishes Sirius blood with your own, you'll already be recognised as the heir and thus offered protection under the Black family's oath to watch over its own."_

_“How much blood do I have to give?” Sirius is already rolling up his sleeve, but Remus reaches over gently to stop him._

_“It’s not that simple. The potion has three components, each taking three weeks to brew and none of which can be done consecutively because you have to add a quantity of new blood to each brew and also every five days for the final week right up to the last hour before it is ready. Sirius gives his blood to the potion first before drinking each component, then the third is ingested by Lily.”_

_“That’s a lot of blood.” James looks over at Sirius. “And I bet the magical depletion will wipe you out for days after.”_

_“I don’t care. You know I would give up my life for anyone in this room, including the little prongslet. It’s not a question of if, it’s a question of when.”_

_“How complicated is it to brew, Remus?” Lily snaps her fingers to summon a notepad and pencil._ (She has always preferred muggle writing tools - Sirius smiles fondly as he recognises the expression on her face from months of NEWT prep at Hogwarts.)

_“I would say intermediate to advanced potions level, I think you and James could manage, you know I’m pants at potions and Sirius will be too weak for most of the process.” Remus pulls a scroll out of his pocket, and pushes it across the table. “You’ll want to read up on it, Lils. And I think we should get Marlene in on this too, we need her monitoring the baby and both your vitals.”_

(A pang of sadness goes through Sirius at this - Marlene hadn’t made it to the final step of the potion, she and her entire family having fallen to Voldemort’s wand only a week before it was ready.)

_Lily nods, already lost in thought as she reads._

The memory fades but is almost instantly replaced by another.

_Sirius is leaning back against an old flower print couch in the Potter’s basement, which has been converted into a makeshift potions lab. His face is grey and a bandage covers the lower half of his arm. Across the room, Lily is giving the cauldron five widdershins stirs, a hanky tied over the lower half of her face because the smell of blood hangs metallic and slick in the air._

_“Thirty minutes, Pads.” She says once she has completed the final stir, coming over to sit beside him so she can cast the spell to check his vitals. There are bags under her eyes and her skin looks grey - they’ve both spent the past week mourning Marlene. When she pulls the hanky off, he can see that her lips are chapped and bitten._

_“Worth it.” Sirius rasps._

_Lily lifts a mug of blood replenishing potion to his lips. “This won’t return the magic, but it will make you feel less dizzy.” She says, and tilts the cup against his lips so he can drink. When he finishes, Sirius leans his head against Lily’s shoulder and closes his eyes, putting a hand on her belly where the growing life is now visible. “You’d better name him after me.”_

_“Sirius Potter does have a certain ring to it.”_

_“I meant Padfoot. Padfoot Potter has that nice alliteration, don’t you think?”_

_Lily laughs tiredly and touches the back of her hand to his forehead. “Sure you’re not feverish?”_

_There are footsteps on the stairs and a moment later James appears, floating a teapot, mugs, and a plate of sandwiches ahead of him. Both Lily and Sirius make a face at his offerings._

_“Don’t look at me like that.” James says, levitating the items onto the coffee table in front of them. “You both need to eat and if I have to sit here to watch you do it, I will.”_

_Reluctantly, Lily leans forward to take a sandwich while James plays Mother, preparing both of their mugs exactly as they like. Sirius shakes his head at the proffered drink, instead closing his eyes as a wave of nausea overwhelms him._

_“When did Remus say he’d be here?” Lily asks, running a nervous finger over the rim of her cup._

_James checks his watch. “Shouldn’t be long now.” And, as if summoned, they hear the front door open and Remus’ voice calling out a hello as he descends the stairs._

_Shock is evident on his face as he looks at Sirius, and Remus sets aside any further greetings to crouch in front of him._

_“Pads?” He asks, bringing his hands up to jostle Sirius’ knees._

_“Hey Moony.” Sirius croaks out._

_“Have you eaten anything?” Remus doesn’t wait for an answer, selecting a sandwich from the plate and moving to sit on the arm of the couch beside Sirius, offering it to him._

_Sirius shakes his head._

_“You have to eat, Sirius.” Remus leans forward and whispers in his ear - it is inaudible to those watching the memory._

(Remus has whispered: “You are far too important for me to allow you to stubbornly waste away.”)

_He ghosts a light kiss over Sirius’ lips._

_Sirius sighs and takes a bite of the sandwich._

_An egg timer (product of Lily’s muggle childhood) goes off, and they all sit staring at each other for a moment till James goes to silence it._

_Lily sighs and rubs her stomach. “I’m scared.” She admits._

_“I know love.” James says, returning to her side. “And you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”_

_Lily glances over at Sirius whose head is leaning against Remus’ chest._

_She shakes her head. “No. We’ve come too far to stop now. I’m ready.”_

_James walks over to the cauldron to ladle out the potion, presenting it to her in a gold goblet that is part of a matching set, a wedding gift from McGonagall with twin lions rearing up on either side._

(Privately Sirius has always thought they are ugly. Now they’re buried somewhere in the rubble of Lily and James’ house and he would give anything to see them again.)

_James sits beside Lily on the couch, his body turned toward hers attentively. On her other side, Sirius opens his eyes and puts a hand on her shoulder._

_“I love you.” James says. “It’s going to be okay.”_

_Lily nods, but her hand shakes as she raises the goblet to her lips._

_Several things happen at once - Sirius arches his back and screams_ (a line of searing pain has pushed through him, as though someone is trying to pull his spine out through his ribs) _. Lily slumps backward, gulping as though she is at risk of drowning on dry land. A vein of light whips out from Sirius’ chest like a snake rearing toward Lily, driving itself into her open mouth in a vicious strike. She gasps shallowly, her eyes closed and lids flickering with movement._

_“Is this normal, Moony?” James demands._

_“I - I think so.” Remus looks on, terrified and helpless, as Sirius’ scream turns into a small wail and he wraps his arms around his chest as though trying to prevent his internal organs from leaving. The light pouring from him weakens, dims, and then goes out. Beside him, Lily’s breathing steadies, though she continues to gulp heavily at the air and her nose has begun to bleed, a red so deep it seems nearly black._

_“Sirius?” Remus asks tentatively, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Tears stream down Sirius cheeks but he grabs blindly for Remus hand and holds it tightly to his chest, over his heart._

(Sirius remembers these moments as the first of a new life, as though something that was restraining him had been burned painfully away. An unidentifiable part of him aches for the thing that has been lost, but he feels lighter. Freed.)

_“James?” Lily asks after a moment, opening her eyes. The nosebleed has stopped and blood is drying on her lips, tracking lines down her neck and staining the collar of her green t-shirt._

_“Lily? How do you feel? How’s the baby?” James leans forward, one hand on her stomach and the other cupping her cheek._

_“I felt like I was drowning in something thick and dark, I opened my eyes and couldn’t see. Something rushed into my mouth and then I couldn’t tell what parts were me and what parts were it anymore. But now I can feel you, Sirius.”_

_Sirius nods._ (He recognises the feeling of being near his family’s magic, can practically smell it in the air around them, feels his call out and Lily’s answer in a familiar voice.)

_Carefully, Lily casts a vitals spell on her stomach. “The baby is fine, he...he feels like you now too, Sirius. You, me, and James.”_

_“Always the fourth wheel.” Remus jokes in a shaky voice, relief evident on his face. Sirius squeezes his hand._

The memory fades away then, Lily and James growing lighter and lighter till they have disappeared. Sirius is not sure he will ever be able to watch a memory of them without feeling as though they have died again.

An uncomfortable silence follows till it is broken by Dumbledore.

“But can you prove it worked?” The old wizard’s face is impassive, his eyes keen and focused - Sirius can tell he is impressed despite himself.

Hestia grins and Sirius can practically see her canines glint in the candlelight. She flicks her wand and a long, heavy tapestry appears, displacing parchment and quills as it unrolls itself on the table.

“This is the Black Family Tree.” Hestia explains as everyone leans forward. “Woven in the thirteenth century, it has tracked the birth and death of every person in the family. If you’ll look toward the bottom, I think you’ll find a new addition.”

Sirius doesn’t have to look at the tapestry to know what it says. The names of his parents are there, with branches reaching from Walburga and Orion Black to Sirius (his name still a burned hole) and Regulus. But a third branch is connected to theirs bearing the name Lily Evans Potter, attached to James Potter and below them, on the final branch, Harold James Potter.

“‘Toujours pur’ no longer” Sirius quips into the silence that follows. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has finally caught up with the times.”

“Let the record state the Lily Evans Potter and her son, Harry Potter, both appear on the Black Family Tapestry.” Zain Shafiq, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, calls out to those who cannot see. A murmur ripples through the room at those words, people craning their necks to get a glimpse.

“You mean to tell us that you gave up your inheritance so that the child would have blood protection?” Demands Grizelda Marchbanks.

Sirius nods “The rite Lily performed in the moments before her death was not intended to have Harry protected under his Aunt’s roof, but under mine. I am his godfather. I have a covenant to care for and protect him. And Legatarius will ensure that as long as he lives with me he will be protected by the magic of the Black family that ran through his mother’s veins and runs through his.”

Dumbledore stands amidst a volley of questions, holding his wand to his neck to cast a non-verbal Sonorus. “I’d like to request a quick recess to speak with Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Ms. Jones.” His voice booms above the chatter, demanding attention from the congregation.

The Wizengamot can’t really deny him - Elphias Dodge may be standing in as Chief Warlock, but Dumbledore’s influence remains- so fifteen minutes are given.

Dumbledore leads them into a small adjoining room and casts a privacy spell.

“What can we do for you, Albus?” Hestia asks, and even Sirius has to admire her gall in using Dumbledore’s first name. The man himself raises his eyebrows slightly, but appears otherwise unperturbed.

“I will withdraw my proposal for Harry’s guardianship under three conditions.”

“We don’t need your conditions. We have a solid case.” Sirius says, trying to keep his tone even.

“Solid though it may be, my support will help sway them further. Do you think the ministry will allow the hero of the wizarding world to be raised by you and Mr. Lupin? Two wizards who are obviously involved with each other? They will hardly see that as a suitable family. The case could drag on forever without my support.”

Sirius gapes at him. It isn’t a secret, exactly, that Dumbledore is gay. He’s just sort of stayed in the cauldron his whole life. Still, his insinuating that Sirius and Remus will be unsuitable guardians makes Sirius wants to put his fist through the wall. Sensing this, Remus puts a hand on his arm. Sirius forces himself to take several deep breaths before he manages to bite out “what are your conditions?” 

“You raise Harry outside of the magical world so no one knows who he is or where he has gone. When he is of age, you send him to Hogwarts. And finally, you allow me to give him additional lessons during his time there. If you agree I will support your guardianship of Harry...and I will continue to feign ignorance as to your condition, Mr. Lupin.” He utters this last sentence in a grandfatherly voice, so full of good humour that for a moment Sirius doesn’t realize what is being suggested.

Hestia puts her arm across Sirius’ chest to stop him from moving toward the old man, and turns to Dumbledore again. “We need a moment alone, if you please.”

Dumbledore gives a small bow and exits the room while Hestia throws up her own muffliato.

“Listen, we can keep fighting. You have a solid case, and Dumbledore will be hard pressed to get his way even if he reveals Remus is a werewolf.”

“But how long will it mean Harry stays in McGonagall’s care while we fight?” Remus asks, ignoring Sirius’ muttered expletives at the thought of Dumbledore’s threat. “She can’t look after him forever, not with school.”

“I wish I could reassure you.” Hestia sighs and leans against a small desk in the corner of the room. “It could be weeks, months if Dumbledore drags the case on. He’s not wrong about the prejudice that lingers in the wizarding world - purebloods don’t take very kindly to queers. Ninety percent of the Wizengamot is over 60, which means that unless _they_ are gay they’ve probably never met one of us in their life. Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard in who knows how many centuries and even he’s afraid to officially come out.”

“And he’ll tell everyone Remus is a werewolf.” Sirius shakes his head. “We can’t let him do that Moony. They’ll put you on a registry.”

“I will not let him use me against you.” Remus leans forward and puts his hand on the back of Sirius’ neck, bringing their foreheads together. “I will not let _anyone_ use me to hurt you. Ever.”

Sirius closes the distance between them and kisses him fiercely, Remus’ fingers tightening in the hair at the back of his head. Hestia gives them a moment then clears her throat.

“I hate to interrupt but we’re still technically in the middle of a hearing.” She says, looking absently at her short fingernails which have been painted a dark gold.

Remus turns red and Sirius gives him a faint smile, smoothing hair back from the other man’s face. “Right. We’re going to settle with Dumbledore.” Remus begins to protest but Sirius shakes his head. “The last thing I want is for someone to use _me_ against _you_ , Remus. We’ll go somewhere remote. We’ll teach Harry everything we can before we send him to Hogwarts and...when the time comes, we’ll deal with Dumbledore.”

Hestia looks from one to the other, waiting for an agreement. When Remus nods, she claps them both on the back and steers them toward the door. “We’ll get it all very legally bound together, I promise.”

Sirius grabs Remus’ hand as they enter the Wizengot Chambers once more.


	4. 1991 - Sun of the Sleepless

Sun of the Sleepless! melancholy star!  
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,  
That show’st the darkness thou canst not dispel,  
How like art thou to Joy remembered well!  
So gleams the past, the light of other days,  
Which shines but warms not with its powerless rays:  
A night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,  
Distinct, but distant – clear – but, oh, how cold!

-Lord Byron

* * *

“Padfoot?” The small boy looks around him, at the thick forest that allows very little light to penetrate its canopy of leaves. The gloom is more comforting than unfriendly, but sometimes he forgets to be brave when he is alone. No one has ever actually told him that he needs to be brave, though he has grown up with examples of it his whole life. He knows the stories of those who came before him, that his parents were braver than most wizards could ever hope to be. It stands to reason that he too should be brave. But sometimes it’s difficult to access that vein of courage running from them to him.

He brushes the fringe off his forehead and rubs a dirty palm across the scar that crosses it, a white fork of lightning that runs over his brown skin like the roots of a tree. It travels from the left of his hairline to his temple, a branch cutting through his eyebrow in a stark line that ends just above his eye. Sometimes, when he’s thinking, his fingers travel over it as if by a force outside of his control, but otherwise he often forgets it is there. His muggle friends in the village think the scar is cool, and that’s enough for him.

There is a rustle to his left and he stops, peering into the dense trees till he catches a flash of black fur, almost invisible against the underbrush.

“Found you!” He sings out, dashing forward to pull the large, shaggy black dog out from under a fern. The dog barks happily, licking his face sloppily as the boy laughs.

Seconds later, a man stands in its place.

Sirius has not aged much in the past eight years. He’s still lean and handsome, black hair falling mid-chest, grey eyes that foretell mischief and slightly crude humour. He has a short, well kept beard the same colour as his hair, a full set of piercings in his ear, and several tattoos on his bare arms: a stag framed by lilies on his left bicep, the leo constellation with one star slightly bigger than the others slipping down his right. There are more hidden under his dark blue t-shirt, but the ones on his arms are meant to be seen, banners of loss and remembrance.

“Took you long enough, Harry.” He chides, but can’t keep the grin off his face.

“You blend in!” Harry laughs. “Besides, it was only ten minutes!” His posture is a carbon copy of his godfather’s, right down to the cocky jut of one hip. He has grown up worshiping the man in front of him, memorising his responses, his likes and dislikes.

“Harry?” The voice is a pleasant baritone, and it carries through the woods without the aid of a wand. “Sirius?”

Harry looks up at him. “Moony wants us.”

“Best not keep Moony waiting.” Sirius looks him over. “Are you too big to be piggybacked?”

Harry scrunches up his face. “I’ll say!”

“Just thought I’d ask.” Sirius will never admit it, but he misses when Harry would gladly climb on his back and allow himself to be subjected to Sirius’ style of affectionate teasing, which often involves pretending to drop him or run into a low-hanging tree branch. Instead, he starts back toward home, knowing the boy will catch up.

Hydd Cottage sits comfortably in a small clearing, bracketed by the forest on either side with a two gardens- one for herbs and one for vegetables- taking up most of the empty space around it. A slight smell of saltwater hangs in the air - only a few acres away, the Dwyryd drains into Tremadog Bay. An apple tree that produces sour fruit leans like a knobbly old woman over the cobbled walkway, which takes a meandering path to the front door.

The cottage itself is an old building built of dark grey stone with a thatched roof. Rose bushes flourish under the front windows, their blooms growing along a trellis over the entrance, which opens into a slightly old-fashioned kitchen that is cool even on this hot July day. It smells like pasta, a meal slightly incongruous with the Welsh countryside, and fresh bread.

Harry notices immediately that Remus has laid the old farm-style table with six plates, and frowns.

“Who’s coming for dinner Moony?” He asks, wiping dirty hands on his shorts.

Remus looks up from where he is slicing bread. “Some friends of ours. You’ll like them, Harry. But don’t you think you should find a shirt with at least a few less grass stains?”

Harry looks down at his white and green striped shirt and frowns, unable to remember getting so dirty but reluctant to go change. Luckily for him, Sirius only laughs and waves his wand, cleaning the dirt from Harry’s clothing and hands.

“You’re such a mum.” Sirius says, so much affection in his voice that Remus’ cheeks turn pink as Sirius threads an arm around his waist. Remus is not striking in the same way as Sirius, age slightly more obvious on his body - tall, with broad shoulders and a head of soft chestnut curls that just reach the nape of his neck, already turning grey despite his relatively young age. He has scars, like and yet not like Harry’s, claw marks on his neck and arms, a long one travelling from behind his ear to the curve of his spine. There are others, too, ones he won’t show anyone except Sirius. His brown eyes are kind, at times loving and others thoughtful. There’s an easy grace to the way he moves through the kitchen, a sense of being at home for which he is still grateful.

“What friends?” Harry asks, sure it must be someone from the village.

“You haven’t met them. Molly and Arthur Weasley, and their son, Ron.” Remus and Sirius exchange a meaningful glance over Harry’s head. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the boy - in fact, it makes him more determined.

“How come I’ve never heard of them before?” Harry asks, taking the cutlery that Remus hands him.

“We haven’t seen them in a very long time.” Remus says after a moment. Sirius purses his lips and turns to fiddle with the tap, ostensibly getting a glass of water. Harry can see the tension in his shoulders as he moves - something is off.

“Then how can they be your friends?” He demands, placing the forks and knives in the same spots he has put them ever since he became old enough to help.

“Sometimes friends don’t see each other for years, it’s what happens when you live in the country like we do.” Remus says in his teacher's voice, the one he uses when he goes over Harry’s homework with him. At the sink, Sirius snorts but does not turn around.

“Do you know them from when you worked in London?” Harry asks Sirius, who is a cursebreaker for Cardiff Gringotts but used to work at the central branch. Remus works in Cardiff as well, at a muggle bookstore owned by two old men who keep saying they will retire and never do. Harry spends most of his summers there, devouring as many books as he can about magical creatures while he sits importantly behind the front cash, polyjuiced to look like a muggle boy from the village near his home.

“No. They live in Britain. I promise you’ll like them - Ron is your age, and he’s going to Hogwarts in the fall, same as you.”

“Oh.” Harry says.

He doesn’t want to think about Hogwarts, it’s too exciting and too scary. He doesn’t want to spend months away from Hydd Cottage at a school where everyone knows about his parents and how they died. How he lived. Sirius and Remus have prepared him for it, the eventuality of his celebrity in the magical world. They’re well insulated in Wales - Harry keeps his fringe long and spends most of his time with muggles. On their infrequent visits to the magical world, he takes the polyjuice potion. Sometimes they visit Rana and Hestia, the latter of which- to Harry’s delight- was Padfoot’s fourth year girlfriend at Hogwarts. (It’s difficult to imagine Sirius with anyone but Remus, or vice versa, but Moony has verified that the story is true.) Hestia is unflappable and has never made Harry feel weird, and Rana makes sure there is always basbousa cake waiting for him to devour, tells Harry stories about the magical creatures she studies.

Over his head, Remus and Sirius appear to be having a silent battle of raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

Remus wins, gesturing for Sirius to contribute to the conversation.

“It’ll be nice to meet a wizard your own age.” He offers at last, though his tone is dry.

“You’re hiding something.” Harry says, his bright green eyes swinging from one to the other.

“Listen Harry-” Sirius says, over Remus’ muttered admonition. “There are lots of people in the wizarding world - and in the muggle one, for that matter - who don’t think that two men plus one boy equals a family.”

“But _we’re_ a family.” Harry says, as thought that is all the proof anyone could require.

Remus strides across the kitchen to put an arm around Harry’s shoulders, drawing him against his body. “Of course we are. But we had to fight for you, at first. Dumbledore-”

“Fucking internalized homophobic ass-”

“DUMBLEDORE” Remus continues over Sirius “didn't believe that we could raise you properly. Sirius had to invoke the laws of guardianship, and Dumbledore wasn’t happy about it. Remember when we told you we had to agree to live outside of the magical world? Send you to Hogwarts? All of those are provisions of having Dumbledore support our bid to be your legal guardians.”

“What does that have to do with the Weasleys?” Harry asked.

“The Weasleys belonged to the Order of the Phoenix - remember, Sirius, Hess, and I were also members? It was Dumbledor’s organization. And so we’re a little...nervous that they might feel we aren’t proper guardians.”

“I’d fight anyone who tried to take me away.” Harry says, turning to wrap his arms around Moony’s waist and bury his face against the man’s stomach.

“No one will ever do that.” Sirius assures him. “And anyway, you might like Ron. Wouldn’t it be nice to know someone at Hogwarts before you start?”

Harry shakes his head, slightly overcome, and keeps his face hidden - Remus smells like flour and cinnamon, which means he has also made sweet buns for desert. This cheers Harry a little.

There’s a brief pause, then Sirius is bending down to Harry’s level.

“You’re ours, Harry. Nothing is ever going to change that.” He straightens up and wraps his arms around the two of them, sandwiching Harry so tightly he almost can’t breathe. It feels safe.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Alright.” Remus says quietly. Sirius squeezes his shoulder, then Harry’s, and goes to answer.

**\---**

Sirius can feel tension turning into knots along his shoulders, but so far the Weasleys have been nothing but pleasant. He has to admit that Arthur is a delightful man, not a shrewd or calculating bone in his body. Molly, on the other hand, has hints of his cousin Narcissa, though he’s sure neither would appreciate that comparison. In the midst of slightly awkward pleasantries, he can see her eyes wander over the house, its simple decorations and furniture faded with age, the photos on the mantelpiece of the Marauders, Lily and James’ wedding, Sirius and Remus’ life with Harry. Then her eyes fall on the boy himself, and there’s a warmth for which Sirius can’t fault her in the smile that lights up her face.

“Hello Harry.” Her voice is friendly and motherly, and though she’s really only ten years older than him, it makes Sirius feel suddenly very young.

“Hi Mrs. Weasley.” Harry says shyly, and Sirius can see that he has backed himself up so he is leaning almost imperceptibly against Remus.

“Call me Molly; this is Arthur, my husband. And this is Ron.” Mrs. Weasley gives her son a slight push and he holds out an uncertain hand to Harry

“Hullo.” Harry says, shaking it. They both look so solemn that it’s difficult for the adults to keep straight faces.

“Dinner is ready if you’d like to have a seat.” Remus says once he has performed his share of handshakes and light small talk. “I hope you like pasta - this one is Harry’s favourite. He’s in charge of tending the cooking herbs, right Harry?”

Harry nods, still looking slightly lost.

“It’s pesto.” Remus prods. “Harry raised the basil plants from seed.”

“That’s very impressive Harry.” Molly says. “Do you like to garden?”

Harry nods. “I like to watch things grow. And Remus says I have to learn responsibility if I want a kneazle.”

Molly laughs. “He’s quite right, they’re very intelligent.”

“Remus, is that stove eklektric?” Arthur asks, and then the two of them are leaning over the device, Remus instructing Arthur on the different settings till Molly clears her throat and suggests that dinner might be getting cold, though they all know warming charms have prevented the decline of its temperature.

“Do you like Quidditch?” Ron pipes up once everyone has been served and a general quiet has fallen over the table.

Harry grins. “I love Quidditch! My dad used to play, and so does Pads. I haven’t played a proper match, though.”

“You should come round to ours.” Ron says, lighting up. “I have five older brothers and all of them play it, plus my younger sister Ginny, when mum lets her.”

“Can I Pads, Moony?” Harry asks, turning to give both men his best approximation of puppy eyes.

Remus laughs. “We’ll have to see what we can arrange, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt for you to go to the Weasleys for a day instead of coming with me to the shop.”

“He’s more than welcome.” Molly assures him.

“What about next week, mum?” Ron asks. “When Bill’s home?”

Molly looks back at Remus, obviously recognising the decision maker in the family. “What do you think about next Wednesday?” She asks.

Remus looks at Sirius, doing the silent communication thing that annoys Harry because despite having watched them at it for most of his life, he’s still not able to decipher their code.

Sirius nods, and Remus smiles at Molly. “That sounds perfect, if Harry wants to?”

“Yes!” Harry says, exchanging wide smiles with Ron. Sirius has to smile a that - there’s a part of James he recognises in Harry, the charismatic boy who can make friends easily. Harry is slightly shyer, a little more reticent, but Sirius has seen him with the kids in the village and knows Harry is friends with almost all of them.

They pass the rest of the meal talking about less complicated matters. As the adults discuss the upcoming ministerial elections, Sirius catches snippets of Ron and Harry’s conversation about Hogwarts, Quidditch, and which chocolate frog cards both need for their collections. Sirius has long questioned Dumbledore’s insistence that Harry be kept mostly out of the magical world - it’s almost shameful that he is only now being allowed to explore his place there, among other witches and wizards his own age. Sirius wonders if Harry would have felt more normal with a whole history of experiences behind him, instead of walking suddenly into a world where he is famous. But it had been Dumbledore’s request, a proviso of allowing Sirius and Remus to raise the boy without his interference.

Ron and Harry are becoming fast friends over the dinner table - the red head is a little taller and broader, not a hint of shyness about him. He will have to grow into his ears, but Sirius can see the man he will become by looking at Arthur, and that’s not such a bad path to take.

Molly puts a hand on his arm. “You and Remus should come over for dinner on Wednesday.” Her smile is kind, and everything within Sirius wants to believe it is also genuine. He feels skittish around outsiders now, barely able to trust anyone beyond their immediate family (Hestia and Rana are honourary members at this point.)

He glances over at Remus, who is back in discussion with Arthur about something muggle, and feels the same giddy rush of affection he felt as a boy looking at Remus across the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Somehow, he is lucky enough to have this home, Remus and Harry, the past eight years together. He’s scared of the changes Hogwarts will bring, what it will mean to associate with other wizards again.

“I’ll talk to Remus.” He says, and the latter looks over at the mention of his name.

“What’s up Pads?”

“Molly is inviting us to dinner on Wednesday.” He knows instantly that Remus will say yes - it’s a good opportunity to scope out the Weasleys, see what their loyalty to Dumbledore means. Remus has always been a bit of a spy, whether through circumstance at Hogwarts or being drafted into it by Dumbledore. Both he and Sirius know that they will need allies for Harry’s sake - it’s clear that Dumbledore’s interest in the boy will only increase with his attendance at Hogwarts. They’ve suspected since the death of Lily and James that the old wizard is holding something back.

“We’d love to go.” Remus says. “I haven’t been to the Burrow since-”

Molly’s smile fades slightly. “Since Gid and Fab’s last birthday.” She says, and Arthur puts a hand over hers on the table.

“I’m sorry Molly.” Remus’s voice is genuinely regretful.

Molly shakes her head. “There aren’t many people around anymore who knew them. It will be nice to hear your memories, do you know they would have been 30 this August? Maybe you can tell my children about their days at Hogwarts.”

Sirius grins. “We’ll keep it age appropriate, I promise.”

“Those of us left behind must tell the stories.” Arthur says, with a significant glance at the mantle where Lily and James smile out from their frame.

Remus nods. “We’ve tried to paint as full a picture as possible.”

Molly glances over at the two boys to make sure they aren’t listening. “You’ve been out of our world for too long, it’s time you came back to us. Your family has a place there. We haven’t forgotten about you.”

Sirius feels his eyes sting a little “Thanks Molly. We’ll start with dinner on Wednesday, shall we?”

\---

That night, after the Weasleys have gone and Harry is in bed, Sirius and Remus do the dishes like muggles. It’s a long-standing tradition, a sort of wind-down from the day’s events. Tonight, there’s a certain unsteadiness between them, and Remus doesn’t realize he has stopped in the middle of wiping a plate till Sirius tugs it gently from his hands.

“Let’s rest a moment, yeah?” He asks, guiding Remus over to the sofa, pulling him down so they are sitting close in the pleasant glow of the lamps. Sirius puts his arm behind Remus on the couch, playing gently with the curls at the back of his neck.

He hasn’t felt this unsure since they day they brought Harry home.

**1981 - Sun of the Sleepless**

The cottage is muggle in design and function but built by a wizard - Remus acquires it using Sirius’ funds and a lot of charming Welsh that, if Sirius is perfectly honest, makes him want to drag Remus and that magnificently verbose tongue of his into the nearest broom cupboard. He restrains himself, listens as the Sotheby’s agent extols its virtues which include a nearby muggle town and primary school, proximity to the ocean, and the added bonus of Portmeirion, a muggle tourist village with Italian architecture that is only a ten minute drive “If you are the type of wizards who do such things.” She finishes, though Sirius thinks she has already made up her mind on that account.

There are also no other wizarding homes nearby. “The previous owners were quite into the muggle lifestyle.” The agent says, tucking a strand of neatly styled hair behind one ear. “No one has really stayed there since the late 70s when the couple divorced, so the appliances are out of date, but they’ve engaged the services of a muggle property manager to ensure nothing goes to rot.”

She looks them over once more. “I can’t say how the villagers might react to two men raising a child, if you’re inclined to mix.”

Sirius doesn’t care what the muggles think, but he does have another concern. “Can the names on the deed be kept confidential?” He asks. The agent nods.

“We can have all the documents tied to your magical signature rather than your name. The fee is greater-”

“We’ll pay it.” Sirius assures her.

Which is how they find themselves standing outside the little cottage on a chilly November day, a well-bundled Harry sleeping against Remus’ chest as he and Sirius try to gather their wits following the portkey.

“I guess this is it.” Sirius says after a moment, his boots crunching through the snow leading to their new home. Remus follows him slowly so as not to rouse Harry, but the child must be exhausted from his lack of sleep the night before because he doesn’t move.

“I have to say Moony, I always imagined when you and I finally got ourselves sorted and moved in together it would be somewhere a little less remote.” Sirius turns the key in the door and steps back to let Remus pass. “I’d carry you over the threshold if I wasn’t so damned afraid of waking Harry.”

Remus snorts softly. “Thank Merlin for small miracles.”

Sirius flicks his wand as he follows behind, lighting the lamps. He has spent most of the past few days making it livable while Remus finishes up his employment at Flourish & Blotts. Hestia and her partner Rana Shafiq have helped, their combined efforts resulting in a cozy, welcoming home.

The kitchen and living room are separated only by an island made from knotted pine, over which a rack of pots and pans hangs. Its windows look out over the front yard on one side and the forest on the other. The living room is decorated with matching purple couches facing one another before a stone fireplace, on either side of which sit bookshelves so full they appear ready to burst. A short hall to the right of the kitchen leads to their tiny guest bedroom and the bathroom, with stairs to the left of the fireplace going up. On the second floor landing are two rooms - Harry’s, which looks out over the forest, and the master.

Carefully, Remus ascends the stairs with Sirius not far behind. Harry has been asleep on his person for more than an hour, the first sleep to which he has consented since somewhere around midnight, and Remus is loathe to test its depth. Still, Harry has his own crib and Remus knows from the thirty or so baby books he has read that he cannot make Harry solely dependant on the warmth of another body for rest.

Carefully he lowers the child into bed, barely daring to breathe as he retracts his arms.

Harry’s eyes fly open and he begins to whimper. Remus steps back out of his view, pushing Sirius into the hall and praying to any god who will listen that Harry falls back to sleep.

Once Harry realizes that comfort isn’t forthcoming the whimpers turn into tiny, heartbreaking sobs. “Up.” He calls shakily from his crib. “Up!”

It’s the words that do it - though both Sirius and Remus know Harry’s verbal development has been on target (James wrote them with every new word he learned) since his parents’ deaths he hasn’t spoken at all. One of the healers at St. Mungos has assured them that is a normal result of trauma and that if they kept talking to Harry his words would return, but their sudden appearance is too much for Remus’ parenting resolve and he rushes back into the room.

Harry’s tearstained face and grasping fingers remind him too starkly of another night not long ago, and it’s all that Remus can do to keep from crying himself as he scoops the child into his arms.

“It’s okay.” Remus soothes, bouncing Harry up and down. “Shh, you’re not alone. It’s okay.”

They repeat this process two more times before Remus gives up putting Harry to sleep in his crib and they take him downstairs.

Remus sinks onto the couch, Harry leaning against his chest, and sighs as the child’s eyes begin to close again. They will solve this attachment problem later, on a day that doesn’t feel so overwhelming.

Remus closes his eyes as well, overcome by the responsibility he feels for this little human.

“He’ll need to sleep in his own bed sometime, Moony.” Sirius says quietly. What he does not mention is that Harry will only sleep on Remus - the healer has suggested that Harry associates him with safety, due in large part to Remus pulling him from his crib seconds after discovering Lily’s body.

“They find their island and refuse to leave.” She had said, smiling down at Harry as he buried his face in Remus’ collar. “Make him feel safe and work with him slowly. Once he feels secure he’ll stop being so clingy.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Remus murmurs, though he’d like to remind Sirius which of them has been up since midnight with a needy child clinging glued to their person. Sirius managed at least a few hours sleep, but Remus has been in a state of constant anxiety that he will pass out and squish Harry. He can feel a headache spun from pure exhaustion beginning behind his eyes.

Sirius summons a book from the shelf without speaking - from behind his closed eyes Remus hears the soft sound of it sliding from its place, the gentle thump of it landing in Sirius’ palm. He hears the pages turn, a finger running down the index, then more fluttering as Sirius searches for the chapter he wants. He doesn’t mention that Sirius’ wordless magic makes him want to do unspeakable things to the other man, not with Harry on his chest. Then he wonders if he will ever get to do unspeakable things to Sirius again, given his unexpected new appendage.

“This book says you can’t fall asleep on a sofa or chair with a baby.” Sirius says unhelpfully after a moment. There’s the sound of another book flying from the shelf, more turning of pages and silent reading. “This one says that we should sleep train him slowly by comforting him and returning him to the crib every time.” A third book flies over. “This one says-”

“Padfoot.” Remus briefly opens one eye. “Enough.”

Sirius sighs - he is feeling altogether uncomfortable about the situation, an unwelcome emotion compounded by grief. James would know what to do. Lily would be able to get Harry to sleep in his crib.

“What about a body bind?” He asks after a moment.

Remus’ looks as though he is holding back an exasperated smile. “For me or for Harry?”

“Take your pick.” Sirius puts a gentle hand on Remus’ forehead, drawing cool fingers down his temple, tucking an errant curl behind his ear. “We made the right choice for him, didn’t we?”

“Absolutely.” The fact that Remus doesn’t hesitate makes Sirius feel better. “We all belong together, difficult as the adjustment has proven to be.”

“I’m sorry he’s so fixated on you.” Sirius moves his hand around to the back of Remus’ neck, rubbing careful circles with his thumb and index finger along the tight muscles.

Remus closes his eyes again and makes a small noise of contentment. He understands the child’s attachment - all those nights spent living in the woods, among werewolves, Remus’ own touch-starved body aching for Sirius’ deft hands and warm skin. He hasn't been able to give it up again, still sleeps curled around the other man like someone might try to take him away.

Sirius’ fingers find a knot in his left shoulder, massaging at it as they sit quietly. Harry snores a little, scrunches up his face in a small cry but does not wake.

“Do you think he’s dreaming of that night?” Sirius asks, worried.

Remus isn’t sure if 18 month olds have recall of exact events, but he’s not confident Harry isn’t re-living the associated fear. Gently, he raises a hand and rubs the child’s back, unconsciously mimicking the circles of Sirius’ fingers on his own neck. Harry’s face relaxes again and he lets out a small sigh, snuggles deeper into Remus’ chest.

“There has to be some sort of trick to this, a spell or something only real parents would know.” Sirius says, watching as Remus’ head lolls to the side in exhaustion.

“Too bad we don’t have a living parent between us.” Remus murmurs.

“Walburga would have done the full body bind hours ago. But I bet Hope could have shared some Welsh wisdom.”

Remus smiles sleepily at that - he has often wished for his mum's kind and loving direction over the past few months, and especially now that he finds himself co-parenting Harry. “We’ll just have to muddle through.”

A comfortable silence stretches between them. Sirius continues his gentle massage with one hand and pages through a baby book with the other while Remus falls into a light sleep, exhaustion and the trusted presence at his side curbing the fear of harming Harry.

They pass most of the morning this way, their small, new family curled up on the soft purple couch, wholly unsure of what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moon is the sun of the sleepless, get it? Lord Byron knows what's up.
> 
> I'm not even going to apologise for my corny-as-fuck title names and beginning quotes.


End file.
